


You and the City

by Good_Morning_And_Good_Night



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night/pseuds/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As you walk, it becomes harder to differentiate between you and the city, it’s thecityandyou and youandthecity."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and the City

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.
> 
> This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

Stepping out of the theater is nerve-racking, your mind still stuck in the actions of the play, swords and guns and Shakespeare and madness that is unfailingly lovable and cherishable, because that’s what Shakespeare is! A descent into madness of the world and a glimpse of who you are, a creature upon the earth with mortal blood pumping through your mortal veins.

It is the cool air that brings back your wits and reminds you that today’s production will not be seen again, tomorrow will be a different one, even if it is the same play because today cannot be relived but in your forgetful mind.

And then you see that the actors are leaving, can be seen, can be personally commemorated in the actions of demolishing your mind, your mental barriers between reality and what is not true. And there he is. The lead. Hamlet in the flesh but yet not, in the living (he dies in the play) but yet not because this is not hamlet anymore. This is a man who portrayed him in such a way that you forgot what is real for three hours (and a small intermission) and let your half-logical mind believe that that man on a stage disconnected from the audience is hamlet and danced a game of death upon a bone playing field and pieces of madness.

And for a moment you think of leaving behind reality and letting your brain keep its beliefs that the man on the stage is hamlet, will remain hamlet and forever be hamlet. You call yourself a coward after three steps you take and seemingly without your volition, a pen, the program and your phone find themselves in your hands.

Shakily you open the phone’s camera option on and politely push your way through a miniscule crowd to halfway in (no further, nobody will let you), ready your pen and page you want signed and look among the teeming heads shifting back and forth, making the images in front of them seem like old movies when it would flick through images slowly enough that you could see the black between the pictures.

And then you wait. And wait. And watch and wait as people shout and scream and coo at other actors and the odd pet that come out from the back doors. You are happy for them, you are but you really only know the lead, have heard his character’s thoughts and learned. And so you wait and wait until… Oh! He’s there, at the front, signing things you can’t see and you take a few photos because you’ve never seen him in person before now and now that you have it feels like life is draining out your eyes in an attempt to remember him and try and wait patiently for him to get around and sign your page and sheet with the pen you so diligently brought with you this time around!

You watch as people courteously step away from the celebrity, allowing for others to flood in their place, watch as some stay selfishly, basking in the glory of being in the presence of such a massive figure who had decided to destroy everyone’s sense of reality on the shifting surface of the stage. And then he walks closer to you… and then it seems like the world has stopped spinning, has thrown you off the planet, like you’re no longer important to anything, have no longer really shared this moment with anybody, because he’s stepping away. He’s walking away, apologizing for not being able to keep going.

You understand, you do, but it’s becoming harder to pretend that you’re alright. You’ve put this much effort into seeing one of his performances, watching him dance across a stage like he belonged there, though it felt like there was a plastic cling-film wall between you and him, from the other world. Like if you threw something sharp enough, it could penetrate the wall and be able to step into the world and become an actor, spontaneously. In an instant.

And for a moment, you wish you could because your hopes plummet. This was the only chance you had because this was the night you were leaving, just a few scant hours away, no more. And you still haven’t packed.

And he just left.

You step away, murmuring “sorry” to the people you bump into, the multitudes of people pulling away from the barriers as if they contained a disease. There are long old steps to the transportation which will take you home. Long, and old and unfortunate. The program is stuffed in your purse, your pen left haphazardly in your jacket pocket. You pull the two sides together, stuff your fingers into the pockets, fingering the pen, thinking about throwing it away. But no. You shouldn’t. It’s too crowded here.

Maybe in your hotel room, at a couch. Or your bed. Or the suitcase that you’re going to be packing as soon as you reach it.

You sigh, releasing your pen from the harsh grasp you kept it in. There’s no reason for this anger. It was nobody’s fault but your own. That’s it. You look at your feet, watching your shoes take one step after another on the pavement, as if nothing had happened. But that’s what you’re best at. Pretending everything’s okay when you’re in public.

The city drowns you in noise, and you let it, your thoughts drifting among the honking and chatter and wind and trees. As you walk, it becomes harder to differentiate between you and the city, it’s thecityandyou and youandthecity. As you reach your hotel, you shake it off and sigh. You have to leave this comfort as well, just as you had to leave the world of the play, but this time it doesn’t leave you jittery to think about it again.

It leaves you with nothing. Nothing but memories of happiness and sadness and acting and theater.

It’s enough. You can weave a story for your friends from that.


End file.
